


"It's truly, truly a sin"

by RainingPrince



Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Crowley Sings (but not very good), Gen, Worries about suicide, alcohol mention, but no one actually dies, tbh this one is a bummer :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 13:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: Manhattan - July 1969A familiar voice cut through the air, and Aziraphale found himself with a smile on his face before he realized it. “Gonna sing a song,” came a grumbly voice from the speakers.The angel turned, and saw Crowley, sitting on a stool with the microphone nearby and a guitar in his hands and what looked like a couple of bells tied to one shoe. He looked just as miserable as everyone else in the room. And more than a little drunk.“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”Remembering the last time they had seen each other, Aziraphale deflated almost immediately.





	"It's truly, truly a sin"

The rain was thick, and it fell in lazy, heavy drops on the pavement in Greenwich Village. Very few people were outside braving the downpour, dashing between overhangs and hiding under umbrellas. Though one could argue that the rain had hardly anything to do with it.

An angel had wandered into a cramped little bar in Manhattan. He was tired and bemused, and had simply not wanted to not be alone that night. Even if the company was a bunch of exhausted, bedraggled strangers stuffed into a dark, slightly smelly room with an open mic. Better than sitting in a hotel room staring at a wall.

Aziraphale had been sent to the States to oversee a series of events that had only lasted a few days but would have lasting consequences. It had been a very trying and frustrating week, and there were a lot of nerves to soothe in the wake, and he was tired. Many of the people he had been watching over were currently sitting in cells, and he ached for them. He knew very well that there would be a lot to do in the coming days but he wanted nothing more than to return to his bookshop. However, this had been his first explicit assignment in many years and he wasn’t about to tell Upstairs 'no'.

At least, not on this one.

The atmosphere of the room was strained. There had been a lot of raids recently and no one was entirely sure if the police were done yet. It felt like a collective manifestation of holding one’s breath, the exhale waiting just barely out of reach. No one was sure it was safe yet. The open mic had been passed between an assortment of people who looked far too tired to be nervous, and the performances themselves held a common thread of sadness. Hope, of course, was sprinkled in, and it did help just a little. But it was always cautious, and there wasn’t as much as Aziraphale felt he needed. Not that he currently felt he deserved any at all.

Preoccupied with thoughts that were deliberately not of his current assignment, the angel poked at his glass of wine and sighed. He didn’t want it as much as he had thought he would, he'd been trying to finish just the one glass for over an hour. Perhaps he didn’t deserve this, either.

The person currently on the stage had just finished a truly impressive spoken word piece and was trying not to cry, and Aziraphale could tell that not a single person would have judged hir if ze did. Ze took a bow, and were met with snapping fingers and gentle applause, and ze hopped off the platform to hug someone at a table.

“Can I get you anything else?” Asked the bartender, pulling Aziraphale’s attention away from a great many things.

“No, thank you. I rather think it’s time to wrap up.”

The bartender smiled weakly, and wandered off.

A familiar voice cut through the air, and Aziraphale found himself with a smile on his face before he realized it. “Gonna sing a song,” came a grumbly voice from the speakers.

The angel turned, and saw Crowley, sitting on a stool with the microphone nearby and a guitar in his hands and what looked like a couple of bells tied to one shoe. He looked just as miserable as everyone else in the room. And more than a little drunk.

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Remembering the last time they had seen each other, Aziraphale deflated almost immediately. 

It had only been two years, and he wasn’t nearly ready to confront that particular snarl of emotions yet. Pulling money out of his pocket, the angel picked up his coat and was about to stand up when it sunk in that _ Crowley was at the _ ** _mic_ **. Steeling himself, he turned to look.

The demon hadn’t noticed him. Instead, he was taking a very deep breath and preparing himself. He started to play the guitar, followed by gently bouncing his foot, the bells rang out with a short, peaceful crash. It was a soft tune with a gentle beat, and moments later he opened his mouth and began to sing. 

> Sometimes I feel so happy
> 
> Sometimes I feel so sad
> 
> Sometimes I feel so happy
> 
> But mostly you just make me mad
> 
> Baby, you just make me mad

He wasn’t the best at singing, a fact that Aziraphale was well prepared for. However Crowley managed to pour so much emotion and care into his voice that not a single person cared, even when his voice broke now and again. 

> Linger on your pale blue eyes
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes

Something inside Aziraphale twisted painfully, and he felt the overwhelming urge to run, get as far as he could, never look back. But he couldn’t look away. 

> Thought of you as my mountaintop
> 
> Thought of you as my peak
> 
> Thought of you as everything
> 
> I've had, but couldn't keep
> 
> I've had, but couldn't keep
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes

It was a relief, at least, that he wasn’t gone. Yet. Their previous encounter had left Aziraphale unsure if he would ever see Crowley again, or truthfully if anyone ever would. But two years wasn’t long, and there was still time.

He thoughts caught on ‘still time’, and he smirked sardonically. He didn’t really feel all that amused.

> If I could make the world as pure
> 
> And strange as what I see
> 
> I'd put you in a mirror
> 
> I put in front of me
> 
> I put in front of me
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes

A small movement alerted Aziraphale to the bartender who had slipped the bill next to his elbow, and was already turning to walk away. He dropped the money he had been holding on top of the slip of paper, making sure to leave a generous tip.

> Skip a life completely
> 
> Stuff it in a cup
> 
> She said, "Money is like us in time
> 
> It lies but can't stand up
> 
> Down for you is up"
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes

It was probably a good thing he hadn’t been spotted. At least, he hoped he hadn’t been spotted. He had tried to mask his presence as best he could but he knew that sometimes even that wasn’t enough. From what he could tell, Crowley hadn’t noticed him, and he felt no infernal pressure at the edges of his “Perception” for lack of a better term. 

> It was good what we did yesterday
> 
> And I'll do it once again
> 
> The fact that you are married
> 
> Only proves you're my best friend
> 
> But it's truly, truly a sin

Aziraphale was too swept up in the performance to even register the use of the word ‘sin’, which on any other occasion might have given him cause to smile, or perhaps take offense depending on the context. Humans had a lot of ideas about what constituted ‘sin’ but they were very frequently just looking for reasons to torture themselves. None of this occurred to him. 

> Linger on your pale blue eyes
> 
> Linger on your pale blue eyes

As the song came to an end, the room was quiet, and no one said a word as Crowley grabbed the bells from his shoe, swung his guitar over his shoulder, and stood up. He took an awkward bow, and the spell was broken, applause scattered through the room.

The instant the applause began, Aziraphale shot out of his seat, grabbed his change (when did that get there?) and left the bar as fast as his legs could carry him. Possibly even faster.

_ “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” _

What had he been thinking? Getting involved with a demon! He was furious and despondent and worried and heartbroken and so many other things all at once.

He pushed open the door and nearly fell onto the street in a graceful tangle of limbs into a stranger. He hardly noticed, mumbled an apology purely out of instinct and kept going.

_ “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” _

What would he do if the demon really did take the suicide pill? Would he be left alone on Earth for another few thousand years? Would he be recalled? Would he asked to be recalled? Would it matter at all where he was or would the pain follow him?

_ “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” _

Why did he say that? He knew why, he knew that he couldn’t handle watching as his oldest friend destroyed himself. He knew that it would destroy him, and that was a terrifying realization that he had been struggling to keep at bay since St. James’ park when Crowley had first brought it up. Holy Water.

He didn’t want to be left behind.

_ “Pale blue eyes.” _

… Aziraphale stopped walking, and he looked around to notice that he was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, soaking wet. He hadn’t even noticed the rain.

Two years, he thought. Two years, he wasn’t gone yet.

Perhaps it just took him that long to get his affairs in order? Did Crowley even care about affairs or have any to put in order? Time was mostly irrelevant to an immortal being, two years was almost negligible; perhaps he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet?

Aziraphale didn’t want to touch the nagging thought in the back of his mind that gleefully whispered “That song was a goodbye. You heard it, it was sad and tired, and it was saying goodbye.” 

_ “Linger on your pale blue eyes.” _

Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath. Unnecessary as it was to a being whose lungs didn’t need air at all, it was still an action that he found helped with his focus, and his nerves.

He had a job to do, and it wouldn’t do to run himself off the rails. He had decided not to interfere with whatever Crowley had in mind, and if the demon really was going to end himself he couldn’t bear to be a part of it.

It had been bad enough providing the Holy Water, but the thought of his friend risking his life to pull off some ridiculous caper trying to obtain something that the angel could procure with ease; it made him sick.

But, if he wasn’t going to use it, if Crowley decided against oblivion… he could come let him know himself.

The rain had increased, hitting the pavement with heavy blows; but the angel hardly minded as he walked back to his hotel. The wind picked up and dropped a few times, the moon was peeking out now and again from behind the clouds. It was dark out, and by now the only people who were awake were those with too much on their minds.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I've been having some thoughts about a fic like this for weeks now and finally decided to get around to it.
> 
> [Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KisHhIRihMY)
> 
> The idea is that Aziraphale was at Stonewall, the police have been raiding and everyone's depressed and worried and Aziraphale wasn't prepared to run into Crowley at all.
> 
> I did a bit of research, "Pale Blue Eyes" came out in March of 1969 so it would be a fairly new song, which fits with a headcanon I had where Crowley liked to hang out around bands and musicians especially during the 60s through early 90s. Crowley may or may not have ever said the name of the artist here but Aziraphale didn't catch it so he didn't realize what it was when he found it in the Bentley decades later.


End file.
